Hi, I'm Natalie.

Uncertainty is cold. It seeps in slowly, first numbing, then isolating, until everything familiar feels foreign. I first felt it the night my mother told us she had cancer. The walls of our home, once steady and warm, felt suddenly brittle. I did not understand much about the disease, but I understood that everything was about to change.

Our household had always been one built on determination. My father taught himself to code and became a software engineer, despite never completing a formal education. My mother, who grew up in public housing and never went to college, was the emotional anchor of our home. But when illness took hold, the roles each of us held shifted. My older brother became the constant chaperone for me and my younger sibling. I became a sous-chef, preparing meals. My mother became a student in her own illness, her own nutritionist, and most importantly, focused on recovering.

For as long as I can remember, I have had a quiet fascination with science and the human body. I dissected bugs in the backyard and watched surgical procedures on TV when no one was watching, drawn to what others found uncomfortable. But when my mother was diagnosed, that scattered curiosity quickly became resolute. I was desperate to push back against the cold weight of uncertainty, so I began researching her cancer. Suddenly, all I wanted was to be part of the effort to unravel the complexities of human health.

My parents were able to cover only my first semester of college. After that, I worked multiple jobs while carrying a full course load, determined to finish in three years and avoid the cost of a fourth. Along the way, I chose leadership roles where I learned how to build trust, guide others, and grow as both a student and a future scientist.

At first, I was not sure I belonged in science. I had no research experience, no connections, and no clear path forward. Instead, I created my own opportunity. I took a non-research job just to place myself near the work I was eager to do. Eventually, I earned a spot in a lab studying immune responses to prosthetic debris. There, I learned foundational techniques including flow cytometry, cell culture, and antibody staining, while collaborating across multiple labs. When the project stalled due to delays beyond my control, I did not question my place. Instead, I saw the broader lesson: science does not just require technical skill. It requires confidence, adaptability, and resilience.

That mindset carried me to graduate school at San Francisco State University and into research at UCSF, where I study osteosarcoma. Using techniques such as CUT&RUN and single-cell multiomics, I investigate how transcription factor networks drive tumor behavior. Each experiment reinforces what I once only dreamed: that I am not just capable of this work, I am meant for it.

That feeling grew stronger when I began shadowing a pediatric oncologist. I watched her move through patient visits with warmth and precision, remembering where a patient had applied to college, and then gently pacing follow-up scans so they could enter their next stage of life without medical procedures overshadowing it. In her, I saw what I hoped to become: someone who brings both intellect and warmth to spaces that often feel cold and clinical.

On my first day shadowing, I met a young man. He was 24 years old and dying. His parents were not ready to let go, so he endured agonizing pain just to give them a little more time together. There was no more treatment to offer, no experimental drug to try, no scan that would change the course. Science had run out. What mattered most in that moment was how his physicians showed up: present, honest, and patient enough to hold space for both clinical reality and compassion.

That experience reshaped how I see medicine. While science gives us tools, medicine is defined by how we support people in the absence of answers. I want to become a surgeon-scientist because I want to help design better questions, not just for experiments, but for people.

This idea captures what draws me to cancer research. We may never fully solve diseases like cancer, but with every experiment, every failure, and every incremental advance, we move closer to understanding and closer to offering patients more time, more options, and more hope.

I have been accepted to Oxford's Phd program in oncology, where I will study colon cancer, one of the most prevalent and rapidly rising cancers worldwide. This opportunity represents more than academic progress. It reflects how far persistence and purpose can carry a person.

After completing my PhD, I plan to attend medical school in the United States, so I can give back not only through research but through direct patient care and community outreach. My long-term goal is to run clinical trials and experimental treatments as a surgeon-scientist, improving outcomes and quality of life for patients directly.

Research gives me a way to find clarity. Medicine gives me a way to offer warmth where the world feels coldest. I am ready to do both.